Blog Tour Spotlight & Giveaway - Pirate’s Alley by Suzanne Johnson

From
award-winning author Suzanne Johnson comes the fourth book in the smart and
sexy Sentinels of New Orleans series.

Wizard sentinel
DJ Jaco thought she had gotten used to the chaos of her life in post-Katrina
New Orleans, but a new threat is looming, one that will test every relationship
she holds dear.

Caught in the
middle of a rising struggle between the major powers in the supernatural
world—the Wizards, Elves, Vampires and the Fae—DJ finds her loyalties torn and
her mettle tested in matters both professional and personal. Her relationship
with enforcer Alex Warin is shaky, her non-husband Quince Randolph is growing
more powerful, and her best friend Eugenie has a bombshell that could blow
everything to Elfheim and back.

And that's
before the French pirate Jean Lafitte, newly revived from his latest
"death," returns to New Orleans with vengeance on his mind. DJ's
assignment? Keep the sexy leader of the historical undead out of trouble. Good
luck with that.

Duty clashes
with love, loyalty with deception, and friendship with responsibility as DJ
navigates passion and politics in the murky waters of a New Orleans caught in
the grips of a brutal winter that might have nothing to do with Mother Nature.

War could be
brewing, and DJ will be forced to take a stand. But choosing sides won't be
that easy.

I frowned and burrowed my face into
the soft down pillow. Which wasn’t my pillow.

Holy crap. What had happened?

I sat up and took in several
observations at once, none of which made sense and all of which sent my heart
rate jack-rabbiting hard enough to send my blood pressure into the ozone.

First, I was lying beneath a heavy
bedspread woven in a rich blue-and-cream print. The bed was an elaborate
confection made to look like an antique half-tester, and a brass chandelier
hung overhead.

I recognized the Hotel Monteleone. I
recognized Jean Lafitte’s bedroom in the posh Eudora Welty Suite in the
Monteleone. I didn’t have a clue as to how I got here.

Second, I wore only underwear. My
clothes were thrown across a chair in the corner. I had no recollection of
removing them.

Third, the pillow next to mine still
held the clear indentation of a head, and there was water running behind the
closed bathroom door.

What in God’s name had I done?

Rand! Where are you? So help me, if
that elf was behind this, I’d splay him open like a catfish and watch his guts
fall on the floor. Then I’d batter and deep-fry him.

God, Dru. Stop shrieking like an
elven shrew. I think you got too cold and went into a survival state.

Survival state? Then I remembered,
and shame joined panic. I had gone into hibernation like a bear, right out on
Royal Street in front of God and everyone. Quince Randolph, you sonofabitch!
Why didn’t you warn me that would happen?

Stop yelling. How did I know you’d
be stupid enough to go traipsing through the snow to the point of
unconsciousness? I can tell you’re in the Quarter, but where are you?

Catch you later.

I slammed shut every mental door I
could imagine and then troweled imaginary caulk in any imaginary cracks around
said doors. I was vaguely aware that, off in the distance of my mental
stronghold, Rand was yelling at me.

Had Jean hauled me back to the hotel
like a sack of pommes de terres? How had he explained a hibernating blonde to
the hotel management? At least my dark blue underwear matched. Had he taken
advantage of me? No, it wasn’t his style. Which meant I’d consented.

Alex was going to kill me if I
didn’t kill myself first. I wasn’t sure hibernation-brain was an adequate
defense.

The bathroom doorknob rattled and I
dove under the covers, even though I realized it was like closing the barn door
after the half-naked cows had escaped.

From my hiding spot, I heard the
door open and footsteps cross from tile to carpet before stopping with a rustle
of fabric. “Hey, babe. You finally back from the dead? Whatcha doin’ under
there?”

“Rene?” I poked my head out and
frowned at my buddy the merman, fully dressed in jeans and a Saints sweatshirt.
His feet were bare, and he walked around the bed and climbed in as if either
one of us belonged here, much less at the same time.

“What are you doing here? What am I
doing here? Who undressed me? Where’s Jean?” And, as an afterthought, “Why are
we in bed?”

Now that I realize I hadn’t acted
like my licentious great-aunt Dru and slept with the pirate, I transferred my
anger to the proper place and it wasn’t to myself. I’d kill that sneaky
Frenchman if he weren’t immortal.

Rene was not immortal, however, and
he was within reach. “You better start talking, fish boy.”

“Aiyeeee.” Rene cackled like the
Cajun he was, and fluffed the pillow behind his head. “I told Jean you’d be
spittin’ mad. Nothing happened, babe. Your clothes were wet and I was just
trying to keep you warm. I’m a shifter, you know. We run hot.”

“Oh, do you now.”

That made him laugh harder.

I threw off the covers and stomped
over to my clothes. He’d seen whatever I had and I knew he didn’t want it, so
there was no point in hiding. I picked up three soggy layers of T-shirts and
sweaters, and cords so wet they weighed about ten pounds.

My breath hitched. The staff; I’d
lost the staff. I whirled to Rene, who sat propped against the lush draped
fabric that covered the headboard, watching me with a grin. “Where’s my bag?”

“In the living room. Everything’s
there, babe, even your magic stick. Jean, he took care of you.”

Yeah, I just bet he did. It was hard
to argue effectively in underwear I’d intended only Alex Warin to see, so I
went into the living room, dug my room key out of my messenger bag, and stuck
my head out the door, looking up and down the hallway.

“I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere,” I
yelled at Rene, and made a run for it, jamming the keycard into my door lock
and slipping inside before I was spotted. If hotel cameras caught my mad dash
on security footage, well, I’m sure they’d seen stranger things. This was New
Orleans, after all.

About
the AuthorSuzanne Johnson
writes urban fantasy and paranormal fiction from Auburn, Alabama, on top of a
career in educational publishing that has thus far spanned five states and six
universities—including both Alabama and Auburn, which makes her bilingual. She
grew up in Winfield, Alabama, but was also a longtime resident of New Orleans,
so she has a highly refined sense of the absurd and an ingrained love of SEC
football, cheap Mardi Gras trinkets, and fried gator on a stick.

Writing as
Susannah Sandlin, she also is the author of the best-selling Penton Legacy
paranormal romance series and The Collectors romantic thriller series. Elysian
Fields, book three in the Sentinels of New Orleans series, won the 2014 Gayle
Wilson Award of Excellence while her Sandlin-penned novel, Allegiance, is
nominated for a 2015 Reviewer’s Choice Award from RT Book Reviews magazine.